


The Best Things Happen While You're Dancing

by hopefullyanauthor



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (kind of), Ballroom Dancing, F/F, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Sarami, but no horrible slurs or anything, fanart-inspired, homophobia in-verse, just ignorance, pride and prejudice au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 20:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10771839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefullyanauthor/pseuds/hopefullyanauthor
Summary: Mila was entranced.She knew that she shouldn't be; she had been told many times that her attention should be directed toward men, that it was a husband she needed. No one had ever told her that it was possible to want a woman instead; it was something she had discovered for herself as a young girl, watching her friends grow more beautiful each year. No one had ever told her that she should act on those strange feelings of yearning and affection.But then again, Mila thought suddenly as she stared across the room,they never told me that I shouldn't.a lil idea i wrote inspired by my friend's fanart of Mila and Sara in ballgowns <3





	The Best Things Happen While You're Dancing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miraculouskatsukii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraculouskatsukii/gifts).



Mila didn't enjoy balls, though not for lack of love for dancing.

The steps she had been taught since she had just learnt to walk were enchanting, she had loved finding out how the music fit so well with her movements, how to capture a rhythm in a spin or to enthrall her audiences with a waltz. 

Her teachers had often told her how talented she was, and she herself had known early on that people watched her far more carefully than the other little girls when they performed. The music, the gowns – all of it made her feel as though she could step into a fairy tale.

No, dancing had never been a problem. But dances. They were a different matter entirely.

All of the balls she had been to were stuffy affairs, too many people in the same room, and too much political conversation to really enjoy herself. There was a constant thrum of hierarchy; who was talking to who and why, how could we get an upper hand over them, and so on. 

Mila could never understand why so many people would congregate in one place to dance, and completely waste the opportunity. There was no life in the steps once class was involved.

“It's for show,” her mother would say, tightening the strings of her daughter's corset with a huff, “We have to show you off and get you a husband, then you can dance to your heart's content.”

 _But I don't want a husband_ , Mila thought every time. _And if I never have a husband, does that mean I'll never dance?_

It certainly looked that way from where she was currently standing – the Spring Festival Ball was turning out to be just as dull as every other that she had attended this year. _It's a shame_ , she thought, resisting the urge to slouch as she stood, smiling, by the wall. _I like this gown. Red's always been my colour._

The couples in front of her stomped around, treading on each other's toes and altogether butchering the music, until it finally ground to a halt. _Why are they clapping themselves? That was awful._

“Mila, look there,” hissed her mother, snapping her out of her thoughts, “That young man is Giovanni Crispino's eldest son, Michele. He's just your age, and handsome too-”

“Mother!” Mila tried not to look too obviously at the olive-skinned gentleman across the room, for fear that he'd notice her and attempt a conversation. “I told you, I'm not interested in-”

“Nonsense, Mila! It's bad enough you've ruined your hair, don't throw away your prospects too – his father earns twelve thousand a year! Now, do you think that the other young women here won't try and impress him?” 

It was true; already, Michele was surrounded by several beautiful young women, each batting her eyelashes and laughing at his every remark. Mila wanted to tell each of them how silly they looked; _surely he isn't so oblivious as to be taken in by all that?_

The longer she watched, however, the more she noticed that Michele didn't seem interested in any of the women except one, who shared his dark complexion. She was certainly the most ravishing of the crowd; her beautiful ebony-coloured hair was pinned up to reveal a slender neck, encircled by a deep blue choker with a silver pendant hanging against her throat. Her gown was made from the same blue fabric, the shoulders cut low over her graceful collarbones. 

Michele seemed determined to impress her, taking every opportunity to direct the conversation her way, and familiarly taking her hand at regular intervals. And yet, for all his attention, she didn't bat one enchanting eyelid. _She doesn't want him at all._

Mila was entranced. 

She knew that she shouldn't be; she had been told many times that her attention should be directed toward men, that it was a husband she needed. No one had ever told her that it was possible to want a woman instead; it was something she had discovered for herself as a young girl, watching her friends grow more beautiful each year. No one had ever told her that she should act on those strange feelings of yearning and affection.

 _But then again_ , Mila thought suddenly as she stared across the room, _they never told me that I shouldn't._

“Mother, I'm going to get another drink,” she announced, starting forward on her trajectory before she could convince herself against it.

She threaded her way between coat-tails and ball-gowns, past the stage where the musicians were arranging their music for the next dance, her eyes all the while fixed on the little party by the refreshments table. _Please, please_ , she silently begged, not even sure what it was she was asking for.

At the very moment she lost all confidence, just when she thought when she would have to actually refill her glass and walk back, those dark eyes locked onto her own. 

Mila was unable to hold back her grin. By now she was standing just a few steps away from Michele and his congregation, directly opposite the mysterious woman in blue, who, to Mila's delight, began to smile too. Mila thought she might swoon at the way the young woman's cheeks dimpled. She seemed to be asking a question – _what's so funny?_

 _Him_. Mila flicked her gaze slightly towards Michele, who was gesticulating wildly about some ridiculous hunting venture. 

The woman rolled her eyes. _He's boring._

 _Why don't you forget him then?_ Mila felt her stomach fill with butterflies, all of them blue. She gestured with her glass. _Say you're thirsty._

Something inside her did a somersault when the young woman's eyes lit up. She watched, enraptured, as the woman whispered something quickly to Michele, before darting out of the group, and over to the drinks table.

“You escaped then,” Mila smiled, noticing with interest that the woman's eyes weren't brown, as she had previously thought, but a curious deep purple colour.

“Well, it was you who rescued me. I'm Sara.” 

“Mila Babicheva.” If Sara had been a man, Mila would have had to hold out her hand to be kissed. As it was, there was no protocol for what to do when one met a female...interest, so she settled for a tip of her glass, accompanied by a smile that she hoped made her intentions clear. 

Sara blushed prettily, before looking up and grimacing. “Ugh, Michele's going to call me back in a minute.”

“And steal you away again? I don't think so.” Mila's heart was pounding, but she knew she would only get a few chances like this in her lifetime. _She's too good to lose._ “We could make an escape.”

The light of the chandeliers played over Sara's delicate features as she considered this proposal. “Where would we go?” she asked, faux-innocent.

 _A challenge. I like it._ “Hmmm...Paris?” Mila raised her eyebrows at Sara's giggle, before adding, “Or, this house has a garden, if you'd rather not get your dress wet.”

They stole a furtive glance over at Michele, who was still caught in conversation with the group of fawning young ladies. 

“A little night air wouldn't do me any harm,” remarked Sara mischievously. Mila wondered if this woman could get any more perfect. _Where has she been for the past seven dances? Speaking of which..._

“They're starting the music again!” she exclaimed, “Quick, take my arm!” Sara stared in amazement at her outstretched hand. “Take my arm, come on!”

As soon as their hands touched, Mila knew that she was doing something right. She began to spin them round and round, faster and faster across the room, the scarlet and cerulean gowns blurring into indigo. At some point, Michele must have called out – Mila heard a shout from somewhere in the distance - but by then it was too late; they'd already reached the open bay windows, panting and laughing in each other's arms.

“There!” Sara cried breathlessly, pointing to the grand staircase. Together they rushed down the steps, two midnight Cinderellas escaping the ball. 

It wasn't until they'd run through all the flower gardens, left behind in a moonlit haze, and stopped at the gates of the hedged maze, that Mila realised they had been holding hands the entire time. She hoped that Sara couldn't see her blush in the dark; she was enjoying being her real, bold self for once.

“Why were you...with Michele...if you were so bored with him?” she panted. 

Sara looked up at her from where she'd been leaning her hands on her knees, and smiled quizzically. “I'm his sister. Didn't you know that?”

Suddenly, everything was wrong. _It wasn't that she wasn't interested in him, he's just her boring older brother! Stupid, stupid, you knew they looked similar- Now you'll have to explain yourself together, and that's going to go well, isn't it?_

All of this went on inside Mila's head, as she kept her composure, as she'd been taught, and took her hand politely out of Sara's grasp. “I see. So, you're here...with me, now...to get away from your brother.”

“Well, yes, he's very protective- oh.” Sara glanced down at her now-empty hand, her fingers casting shadows across her silvered palm. Then she returned her gaze to Mila once more, as if realising something, and a look of timid delight began to spread across her face. “You are... Are you asking if I...enjoy the company of women?”

Mila felt like her heart was about to stop. She was rapidly realising how close the two of them were; inches apart, their skirts rustling against each other. Sara's rounded, soft lips were only a breath away from her own; she could smell her lavender perfume.

“I...I am asking that, yes,” she managed to say, watching the smile grow wider and wider on the other woman's face.

“Well, since you ask,” Sara began, leaning towards Mila conspiratorially, “I do have...an interest in women. Rather more so than men, in fact.”

 _She's so close, so close now. I could reach up to touch that beautiful, dimpled cheek and I'd barely have moved._ “I have the same problem. It makes it rather difficult to find an eligible husband.” 

She heard Sara's low chuckle as more of a hum than a laugh. “Well then,” she paused, breath caressing Mila's face, “you'd better find someone more suitable, hadn't you?” Then, before her blushing conquest could reach out and kiss her like she desperately, _desperately_ wanted to, she spun away, running at full sprint into the maze, laughter trailing behind her like a ribbon in a breeze.

Mila couldn't believe how perfect this terrible dance was turning out to be. 

 

\----------------------------------

 

Here is Andi's lovely lovely lovely fanart of beautiful Sara and Mila in ballgowns, [it's right here!! Go show her some love!!](http://miraculous-katsukii.tumblr.com/post/159685562020/royalty-au-maybe-use-them-however-you-want-make)

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see where the inspiration for this came from, go and show @miraculous-katsukii some love on tumblr for her beautiful Mila/Sara fanart! 
> 
> and yes, the title is from an Irving Berlin song. :P


End file.
